


(Pre) New Years Shenanigans {FrUk-Gift}

by orphan_account



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: APH America - Freeform, APH England - Freeform, APH France - Freeform, FrUK, FrUk Gift Exchange, Gift Exchange, M/M, Multi, Tags may be added on as story progresses, aph canada - Freeform, aph prussia - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 05:46:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5816485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the clock began to tick, minutes feeling like bloody hours. Both England and France have some fun before the annual new years party. And innocent fun not nsfw, get your mind out of the gutter mate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Pre) New Years Shenanigans {FrUk-Gift}

**Author's Note:**

> This was a gift for @smolcydonia for the annual FRUK GIFT EXCHANGE. I'm so sorry this is late but it wouldn't be my story if it wasn't horribly off time. I really wanted to send something though. Anyways I'm so so sorry that the writing quality may seem like bollocks, alot of things have been happening so I couldn't put my mindset into it. Anyways this is the first chapter (the next one will be up soon) so ya, um, enjoy!  
> Prompts:  
> Okay, a fan fic about France and England doing something (be it random or bizarre) before the Annual New Year’s Party the countries have.  
> FrUK fan fiction about Francis and Arthur being home from work and trying to occupy themselves before the New Year’s celebration.

"You know, I've been thinking," and to that, a bushy eyebrow was raised.  
"You were thinking? Blimey, I can't believe it!" sarcasm laced the heavily accented voice. "For once you used your brain," the person speaking threw his hands up, the newspaper he was clutching rustled by the force.  
"Anglettere I take great offence to that!" The other of the pair sourly crossed his arms.  
"Oh hush love, you take offence to absolutely everything,"  
A sigh. The 'arguing' pair were currently sitting on a sofa, the Brit resumed reading his newspaper and the Frenchman stayed looking offended. The only common thing about them currently, is that they're both bored out of their minds. The annual new year party only began in 2 hours and that was a lifetime away (metaphorically), although, a certain bothersome Prussian had visited earlier, insisting that all three of them headed out to a local pub and get a few drinks - and by a few drinks, he meant getting absolutely smashed. England was having none of that, since it wasn't even 12, and shooed him away, reluctantly of course; I mean when you're that bored, getting piss drunk was an appealing idea. But, unfortunately, good things must all come to an end, that scene overall had only appeased the pair's boredom for a solid 20 minutes until they started to feel like they'd die a slow and horrible death and the dilemma still stood.  
The sofa dipped further as England tucked away the newspaper and laid down on his stomach. His fingers found themselves picking some loose thread off France's jeans. Heh, jeans, that word itself was french and, oh! Lookey here. He giggled silently to himself before resuming the activity.  
5 minutes dragged onto 10 and the silence surrounding them seemed to start to suffocate England. He had to say something.  
"Oi...What were you going to say anyways?"  
"Oh? Interested are we? I never thought that you could take an interest in anything other than magic and your little 'fairies', " France rolled his eyes and did jazz hands to emphasize the words, irony clear in his voice.  
"Just spit it out or I'll go back to chavvy talk,"  
"Wha'? Wait!" Oh, god no; the dreaded chavvy talk, his lover's most powerful trump card. Memories flooding back to him, he cringed, the resounding sounds of 'innit??' and 'bling, bling' entered his mind and a cold sweat threatened to break out. That was something he never wanted to remember, let alone experience it all over again. "Anything but that, Angleterre, s'il vous plaît!" England huffed triumphantly seeing the horror on his lover's face. The frenchman nervously gulped and started talking again.  
"Well, u-um, I was thinking, that, um, we could do something before the party. My brain would start melting if we don't do anything soon,"  
"Same here, finally we can agree on something. So, what do you want to do?"  
"Ughhh,"  
"'Ughhh', what?."  
"Um, like,"  
"Like?!"  
"Like? Like...Argh ma tête me fait mal, je ne sais pas une bataille d'oreillers (Argh my head hurts, I don't know pillow fighting?!) ?!  
"Hmm? A pillow fight?"  
All trace of irritation gone, a mischievous grin etched itself onto England's lips. Now this was going to be interesting. "Not a bad idea frog. Maybe I can finally knock you out," The sofa shifted and England was unexpectedly on his feet.  
France couldn't even react. All of a sudden, the cold wooden floor met his back, his face stung and black invaded his vision. He'd been hit. Off of the sofa no less.  
"Come on, you're not already claiming defeat are you?" England challenged. He placed his hands on his hips, shifting his weight onto his left foot. "Although, it wouldn't be unusual..."  
The shit-eating grin still remained, taunting the country currently on the floor. France's blood boiled, he wasn't going to let this slide.  
Casually, he stood up and grabbed the pillow, took a step back, and harshly threw it, landing a direct hit on a sweater-clad chest. He heard an ‘oof!’ and looked at the other of the two, smiling. The breath knocked out of England and France's face slightly red - both nations glaring daggers at each other, panting - was a sight to see indeed. And the pair simultaneously decided;  
This. Ment. War.

In absolutely no time at all, pillows were flying back and forth, screeches of surprise and shouts of rage echoed off of the cream walls and the living room was an utter mess. 'Watch out's and 'Ha! Take that!'s were some of the few things that had been roared throughout the mayhem. France had been deflecting most of the other nation's attacks and in turn, they had been dodging swiftly.  
"Oi! Frog-face!" A pillow flew across the room. "Try to avoid this!"  
"Not so fast Angleterre!" A defected hit! "I'm not going to get knocked again anytime soon!" Smug laughter rang around before being cut short by a pillow.  
"I beg to differ,"  
It wasn't until they nearly hit an expensive looking vase, that they decided that it was enough. Both of them simultaneously flopped on the sofa, England face first, France on his back. Forest green met ocean blue and the pair stared in silence before laughter erupted once again. The activity left the countries breathless and exhausted, face flushed. They laid there for some time, stars twinkling outside in the Some shuffling occurred, a click was heard; suddenly the lights were turned off.  
"Why the lack of lights?" questioned France.  
"Well, since we played your game, I thought we'd play mine," The other started digging into the drawers.  
"Your game? What is it?"  
"You'll see love,"  
France could only make out the faint silhouette of England as he opened doors and messed about in them. Some few moments later something slammed shut and an "Ah ha! Found it!" reached France's ears.  
A heavy weight was placed on his hands and the sofa dipped as another person laid down. A light shone through the darkness, then it was gone again. It kept on repeating the action and France caught on in the third round. Morse code. Ha! He should've known, the way glee covered England's face when asked what the 'game' was. The mischief in those orbs of green. The flashlight which had been placed on his palm. It all made since. In typical England fashion, the code obviously spelt 'Dickhead'. But two can play that game.  
" . -.-- . -... .-. --- .-- "  
"Eyebrow? Really?"  
France smirked.  
"Well, it is true. No?"  
" -... .- ... - ..- .-. -.. "  
"Oi, mon lapin.."  
"Don't call me that, frog,"  
" .-.. .- .--. .. -."  
"L...A...P..I- No."  
"Awww, come on Angleterre,"  
"No."  
" .-.. .- .--. .. -. "  
"L- No,"  
" .-.. .- .--. .. -. "  
"I know you're doing the same thing,"  
" .-.. .- .--. .. -. "  
"Stop,"  
" .-.. .- .--. .. -. "  
"Oh my god,"  
" .-.. .- .--. .. -. .-.. "  
"France this is getting real bloody annoying,"  
" .-.. .- .--. .. ====" England waved his hand over the flashlight to obstruct it and the shape of a palm was made. Much to England's delight, the message was uncompleted, but - unfortunately - France moved so the object was out of reach. Great. Just, great. Something prodded at France's side which made the poor nation try to stifle a giggle, nearly dropping the torch. Yes, he was ticklish. BUT, that didn't mean a certain someone was also prone to tickling. A finger poked the nape of a pale nape and a gasp broke out. Another finger poked his side and giggles broke out. A hand ran across a belly like a spider causing a loud laugh. And suddenly, they were engaged in a tickle fight. A squeak was cut short by a menacing growl, which in turn a chuckle was heard and then three loud 'Bang!'s. They both stopped and winced as the sound nearly deafened them. England slowly stood up off France's lap, where he had been seated, to check out what the noise was when suddenly, a muffled voice flittered through.  
"YO! DUDE IS ANYONE HOME?" A sigh escaping, England went to get the door, France sitting on the sofa - curious.  
"I don't think they're home," another, softer, voice was discovered although, he had to strain his ears to actually make it out. The level of sound was so quite to the point where it was barely hearable.  
"They must be home! Prussia said that they were still there, sitting like rocks. There'd be no way they left. Besides, they're old, what would they even do?"  
"You never know America, maybe we could've killed somebody. With us being 'old', as you pointed out, no-one could've suspected a thing," The front door was opened whilst the pair talking had been distracted. A slender figure leaned on the entrance arch, crossing his arms, face blank and a bored (amused?) expression drawn onto a pale face.  
"O-oh. Um hi?"

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this goes well...I also hope that you liked this! Sorry if it wasn't up to your expectations (;-;). Like I mentioned before, the next chapter WILL BE UP SOON. So don't worry!  
> CFC out desu~  
> Tumblr: @welcome-to-the-blog-of-no-fucks  
> Devaintart: weeb-trash  
> Pixiv: あお鳥★Alice


End file.
